Harry Potter and the Heir of Ravenclaw
by Sheridan Road
Summary: Let it be said that Rowena Ravenclaw was stoic, cold, and ruthless. Let it be said that Rowena Ravenclaw was cruel and wrathful. Let it never be said, though, that Rowena Ravenclaw was heartless. Hermione's life will never be the same after Rowena is done
1. Attachment and Gift

-1

Someone had once told Rowena Ravenclaw that she was a "cold-hearted wench." He went on to become a family man who raised many little tadpoles. Tragically, he and his family died when she had spilled a nasty little potion in his pond.

She thought this was rather Salazar-like of her, but reflecting on it, that was nothing compared to what she did to the man whom cursed her Roland. That man had taken from her any chance she might have had to have children (of course, she could have had a child with another man, but she could not betray her Roland that way) and had almost taken her Roland from her while he was at it. Now her husband was trapped, caged in his own ebon-feathered body, and she had never had an heir.

Not that this was a problem. She just would have liked to raise a child, just once. Rowena could not give two hippogriffs about having an heir or not. In fact, she looked down on Godric and Salazar for obsessing over their family line--what did it matter where a little bit of your blood, diluted almost beyond detection, flowed? Of course, she had an extensive knowledge about heirs, because she could not bear to _not_have an extensive knowledge about _anything_ , really. Heirs were some of the only people whose lives ghosts (for that was what she was, now) could interfere with, yet Godric and Salazar never did.

Well, Godric didn't. He was all rules and regulations and honor and code. "Do not interfere!" he had reminded them, over and over ( although Rowena always turned bitter when she was reminded that she could not, even if she so wished). "It is best to let them live their own lives! We must not help them!" And of course he never did interfere, however she knew for a fact Salazar meddled with his descendant's lives. It didn't bother her. After all, what did the matters of the living concern her?

Well, they never did, before. But on that day, sometime in the 1900's (the centuries had all started to run together about a half-millennia ago), Gretchen Gryffindor had floated to her in a huff, as out of breath as a dead person could possibly look.

"Rowena! The boy needs help! I've asked Godric over and over again to do something, but he won't budge! Please, Rowena! You were always the brightest one, you have to do something!"

She, of course, knew who the "boy" was--Harry James Potter, child to James Harold Potter, who was child to John Henry Potter, who was child to Henry John Potter, and so on and so on. The Potters were notoriously uncreative, even though this did not stop them from reproducing.

Rowena at first had refused, to her credit. She had seen horrible things happen to the living. Horrible, awful things, that she had done nothing about.

But Gretchen was a close personal friend of hers. She was not...practical, for lack of better words, but she was reliable, dependable, and a good person at heart. Rowena often mused that Helga would have picked her to teach. At least, if Helga wasn't such a bitch.

So when Gretchen had come to her, asking for a personal favor from friend to friend, the least Rowena could do was take a look.

She had frowned at what she saw. The Boy was locked into a cupboard under a stairway with a group of nonmagical people (Not Muggles. She and Helga had had a falling out when Helga coined the term. Not long after, Rowena had inadvertently begun the non-magical tradition of picturing witches with green skin and warts.) whom abused him on a regular basis. The boy's parents had been killed by Salazar's heir, and now he was trapped with those awful people.

Of course, that was not the scene that had convinced her to step in. Another scene, later, had done that.

Harry had been out in a park for the first time he could ever remember. He was of course hiding from older and phenomenally large cousin, Dudley. He wondered if maybe he hid well enough that his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would forget about him and go home without him. He highly doubted that fate would be so kind as to dish out a favor like that, but it has often been said that nothing can stop a child from dreaming.

Harry had thought the best way to hide was so that Dudley could not see him, but he could see Dudley. So he was crouched behind a dead, barren tree, sticking his neck out from the side of it as he had often seen his aunt do. It was, perhaps, unhealthy how easily Harry could hide. He was shorter than he should have been at his age, and he was as thin as the discarded twigs scattered around his hiding-tree. His biggest obstacle was not his own body, but the large, bag-like clothing he was in. His gray sweater (in the middle of summer, no less!) hung off of him like drapes, and his hole-riddled jeans (before such a style was fashionable) threatened to fall off of him with every step. He was constantly holding on to the waistband in an effort to avoid humility.

He saw a little girl in a plain pink t-shirt and a light blue skirt sitting on a blue and black checkered blanket, intensely reading a book about something or other. Of course, the little brown, bushy-haired girl's day was about to be ruined when his unmistakably large cousin walked up to her, wrenching the book from her hands, and proceeded to hold it above her head as he ripped out the pages for little other reason than he could. Rowena frowned at the large boy's lack of respect for knowledge. She was no stranger to book theft, as she had often been the perpetrator, but _vandalism!_

The little girl had, understandably, started to cry, and Harry immediately knew what he had to do. He could not allow his cousin to bully another person to tears, even if it meant that he would have to reveal his hiding spot and have to go home with him. Harry Potter, a skinny, malnourished little boy with messy black hair and glasses bull-rushed his elephantine cousin and slammed into him, forcing him to drop the coveted tome.

Dudley, shocked at this turn of events, punched Harry in the gut, sending him reeling, at which point, he promptly kneed Harry square in the face. Seeing that his fun had been had, and that the bushy haired girl's parents were starting to come over, he wandered off towards the swing set to push some smaller children off the swings and maybe give them scabs on their knees, if he was lucky.

Harry had picked up the book and gathered up all the pages, and presented them to the girl on the blanket who treated them with all the care she would have had it been an injured child.

"Maybe you can put the pages back in with tape," he had said with a weary half-smile. The girl nodded and looked up with all the admiration of someone star-struck. This boy--this skinny little boy had come to the defense of _her_, defeating the evil monster that killed her book. He was a brave knight of a far-away kingdom, come to rescue the damsel in distress from the monster.

"Oh!" she suddenly exclaimed. And rightly so, as in her hands, the pages flew into their respective positions and re-attached themselves, and soon it was like nothing had happened to the book at all.

"You're weird, too!" Harry exclaimed, shocked at this turn of events. "You can make weird stuff happen like me!"

The girl only nodded, and held out her hand in an offering of a handshake.

"I'm Hermione Granger, what's your name?"

The boy did not take her hand, for he was unsure what to do about it. He only replied with his own name and explained that the large boy was his cousin, and that he was very sorry that Dudley had bothered her.

The girl told him that it was quite alright, and not to worry about what his cousin had done because it seemed that all the damage had been fixed anyway.

Seeing that that particular issue had been resolved for now, Rowena halted her spying (for that was what it was, despite what certain other spirits may have called it) and turned, once again, to Gretchen.

"So, you want me to help your heir, is that it?"

Gretchen, understandably startled by this sudden accusation, yet knowing full well that she could never lie to Rowena (it was one of the witch's more frustrating qualities), replied, "Well, yes. You know very well that I can't do it, if I interfere with his life, Ricky is sure to catch me! You know all sorts of things and ways to get around things, surely you can help me!" Gretchen had taken to calling her husband "Ricky" ever since she had seen a nonmagical television program featuring a red-headed woman who could not stay out of trouble. Her resemblance to Gretchen was striking.

Exasperated, Rowena responded that she would see what she could do. Of course, she knew very well that "what she could do" was absolutely nothing. It was one of the Fundamental Rules: A ghost could not interfere with another ghost's heir. The magic just absolutely refused to work. But she would at least continue to watch the boy. A little spying could not hurt, after all. Gretchen blew an ethereal kiss to Rowena and floated off, probably to try to find some way around Godric's watch.

The boy was home, or at least in a house he slept in. His relatives had seen him speaking with someone in public and as a result his uncle was forced to teach him a lesson.

A very painful lesson.

With a belt.

Rowena found herself furious, enraged that someone with so little_intelligence _could possibly overpower someone who went to such great lengths to defend a thirst for knowledge. Harry, who had valiantly come to the aid of a damsel in distress, was getting physically punished for it! Secret love of romance novels aside, this just did not sit well with Rowena Ravenclaw. One scream, two...she just could not watch anymore, but more than that, she could not look away.

At that moment, another weird thing happened to Harry Potter. Well, not so much Harry Potter, but Hermione Granger. She was sitting at home, reading her broken-and-then-repaired book about some wild subject that would be much too old for other children. And then she wasn't. Not reading, of course--not at home. Rather, she had been whisked away many miles to the living room of Number Four, Privet Drive. And again, not just any place in Number Four, Privet Drive, rather the living room, to the left of the television, but to the right of the couch, and behind a man but in front of a boy.

It was in this exact and very specific place that Hermione Granger sat, stunned, watching a black leather belt with a gold-plated buckle come down upon her. She screamed.

The Wisest Founder, at that moment, decided that whatever Godric Gryffindor said about not meddling and being impartial was a sizable load of hippogriff dung. As the purple-faced, whale of a man raised the belt again in a blind fury, unnoticing that his target had changed, Rowena Ravenclaw screamed the one thing she never thought she would say.

"I DECLARE HERMIONE GRANGER AS MY HEIR."

Author's Notes: Well, this is chapter one, obviously. It's only two thousand words, but I've always had a problem with my brevity, and I really, really, wanted to end on Rowena's line.

When I write, I tend to get stuck on one phrase (like "of course") and use it over and over again, so please tell me if I am doing that. I am terrible at detail (something about trying to convey an image in my head to people who don't share my brain is impossible to me) so PLEASE, PLEASE give me some advice on that! I'll try to write ahead first, because I take FOREVER to write ANYTHING, so maintaining a schedule is the bane of my existence.

Love and Kisses,

Your Author.

P.S. Flame away. Espescially that 4th-to-last paragraph, ugh.


	2. Sacrifice and Concern

-1A/N: In which I abuse the Shift key.

It was happening. Rowena knew this, of course, because she had been the one to activate it, and not without thorough research of the spell, it's effects, and the manner in which it applied them.

Yet, like most things, she had found that the feeling of going through the spell was not what was to be expected. According to her research, the spell would be painless, instant, and afflict upon the user a feeling not unlike Apparition.

This was not right at all.

After the words escaped the Founder's ghostly lips, she was immediately re-introduced to a sensation she had long since forgotten about.

Pain.

Oh, it hurt. The spell started with her feet--her large toe began to break apart, as if it was frozen and then shattered by an unseen hammer. The shattering soon spread to her other toes, one by one, like the spell was playing that Five Little Piggies game the living were so fond of. Next, her feet began collapsing, and if she was not a ghost and therefore unaffected by gravity, she would have toppled over, although she was reeling anyway.

Her ankles disappeared in much the same fashion, followed by her calves, then her thighs, and her hips, all in rapid succession. Rowena knew now that there was pain above Crucio, (she had Gretchen cast it on her once, in order to get an idea of exactly how much it hurt) and this was surely it.

As Rowena floated there, her lower half gone and little more than a torso with arms and a head, she saw in her mind's eye the small, brown-haired girl that would be her heir in a moment. The girl screamed as the belt hit her back, yet as the belt rose again, she did not make any attempt to escape or move out of the way. Rather, she saw the boy who had been her defender, and saw that she had to be the white knight now. Hermione Granger summoned up the image of her favorite story of a princess fighting for her kingdom, and steeled herself. Rowena frowned at her own weakness. If a little girl, not even old enough to get her wand could make a sacrifice for someone, then surely the most intelligent (and by extension, best) witch in the history of magic could as well!

Rowena, startled, broke the vision. The shattering had begun again. First her stomach, then her chest, and split into both arms until she was little more than a floating head.

"I am doing the right thing," she croaked, and was gone.

Back on the mortal coil, Hermione Granger wrapped her arms around a boy about her age, facing him so that she shielded him from assault. This protection, while all well and good for the boy, did nothing for her, however. Again, the belt rose up, and again, the littlest Granger tensed up in anticipation.

But what she was prepared for did not, would not come. Instead of the stinging of the belt buckle bearing down on her, there was a weight. Not a weight heavy enough to cause her discomfort, but a weight nonetheless.

And then, infinitely more startling than the weight from nowhere, a voice.

"_I've got you. Don't worry. I've got you_." The voice sounded kind, and a fair bit like she imagined her grandmother would have sounded, if her grandmother had been ten or twenty years younger.

It was at that moment that Vernon Dursley finally realized that whom he was attacking was not, in fact, his freak of a nephew, but a little girl he had never seen before. Of course, Vernon knew full well that little girls did not just appear out of nowhere, without some sort of interference.

_Magical_ interference.

Taking a second look, Vernon noticed that on the back of the freak bitch, there was a blue shield, featuring an engraving of some bird with it's wings spread like it was flying right out of the shield. Mr. Dursley reached down to take the shield off of the girl, and to rip the girl off of his freak of a nephew.

He could not even touch her.

Magic (or "a force" as Vernon would later refer to it) lashed out at the whale's hand, and his arm snapped backwards. Taking a more careful approach, Vernon tried putting his hand near the girl again, only for the blue magic to again repel him. Enraged, Vernon lunged at them, and surely would have crushed them both into a magical paste, yet once again, the shield sent him backwards, although Vernon no longer had balance or a hold on the ground, and therefore went flying (for the first time since anyone can remember) into the fireplace.

"_It's okay, he's gone_," the voice that could not be matched to a mouth said, "_You're safe_."

Hermione slowly stood up, holding the shield across her chest tightly like she had done with so many books before, and nudged the boy, who was still shaking, and had apparently not realized that the abuse was now over. The boy stood up a fair bit slower than the girl, knees shaking, and eyes darting around the room to look for some unseen assailant.

"You're the…you're the girl from before!"

"Mmhmm." Hermione nodded, looking around the strange house she had just popped into a few moments ago. All around, there were pictures of that whale of a man, a thin, horse-faced woman she assumed to be his wife, and that mean, oafish boy who bullied her. She was not surprised that he turned out that way with a father like that. What she was surprised about, though(although in retrospect, she should not have been), was the complete lack of pictures of the boy she was currently standing with, or any evidence that he lived there at all. It was almost like he was kidnapped.

"Is he," she choked, "your dad?"

"No, my parents died in a car crash."

At this, a look of shock and horror slowly spread across Hermione's face. She was right--he _had_ been kidnapped. That was the only excuse--how else would such a nice boy have been raised by these…these…these _things?_

Unfortunately for all involved, Hermione was soon interrupted from her interrogations by the arrival of the wife of the man she had just unwittingly knocked unconscious. Petunia had heard the crash, and in fact felt the very foundation of the house shake when her husband hit the fireplace. Petunia began to head down the steps to investigate, where her horse-face contorted into an impossibly more unattractive expression of shock, rage, and disgust. Her dear Vernon was laying in the fireplace, no doubt gravely injured, and her _freak_ sister's _freak_ of a child was standing there, clearly having used his _freak _powers! Possibly even more horrifying than all of that was that there was, standing right there next to him, some girl she had never met. She knew, of course, that the girl was a _freak_ as well, because she recognized the symbol emblazed on that shield of hers as belonging to that _freak _school her _freak _sister went to. Plus, why else would she even be holding a shield in the first place?

Oh, Petunia would remedy _this._

Petunia hurried down the stairway and ran over to the fireplace wear her sleeping giant of a husband lied. Instead of concerning herself with her husband's well-being, as Hermione (but not Harry) had expected, she immediately pulled out a poker from the rack near the fireplace and brandished it as a weapon. This poker was clearly not hot by any means, nor was a fire lit to make it so, but as anyone can tell you, dear reader, a poker does it's job of poking exceedingly well in any temperature.

It was at this turn of events that Hermione realized what exactly Petunia's intentions towards them were. Thinking on her feet, while her new friend seemed quite stunned, Hermione made the choice to defend Harry Potter against the evils of the Dursleys twice in one day. She stood between Harry and Petunia, held up her new found shield with one arm and put her other arm in front of Harry, signaling to him that he was not to move. Hermione Granger placed all of her faith, her hope, her wishing on the mere chance that the shield would work it's magic again.

The shield did not work as intended. But then, it did not have to. Before Mrs. Dursley reached the children to attack, Harry did the one thing his relatives hated him so very, very much for.

He used magic.

Harry grabbed on tightly to Hermione's outstretched arm, and suddenly both children knew exactly what liquid felt like when it was being sucked through a straw. The world collapsed around them, and soon they were standing on nothing. All of it started to fall away, and then they were suddenly thrown back into reality.

Hermione looked around. They were in the park. Specifically, the exact place where she was reading earlier in the day.

"Ooops," Harry spoke, "I used it again. I'm sorry, I'm a freak."

Hermione's heart broke. She could not find any words to say to tell him that it was quite alright, even wonderful, what he did. Without speaking, she turned to him, and hugged him as tightly as a little girl ever could. They both winced from their bruises and cuts from the Dursley's but neither of them minded the pain for now. For the first time in their short lives, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter had a friend.

"Ahem." They both turned around, and again for the first time in their lives, they saw a ghost. The woman was dressed in long, expensive-looking robes that no doubt would have glimmered with all of the various jewels that adorned it, if said jewels were corporeal. Her hair was done up in a bun with two equally gilded sticks.

"Don't worry, Hermione, I'll protect you!" Harry shouted, and balled his tiny little hands into fists. He started punching the ghost relentlessly, even through the iciness that came from putting your hands into a ghost's body.

"Now, now. Stop that, before you make yourself sick. I'm not going to hurt your little friend," Harry continued punching at nothing, "I said STOP!" the ghost bellowed, an angry look on her face.

Startled at this, Hermione put a hand on Harry's shoulder and they stepped away from the ethereal woman. Her expression softened.

"Thank you, dear. I knew I made the right decision, picking one with brains. Now, then, you're probably wondering who I am. My name is Rowena Ravenclaw, and I recently meddled with your," she pointed to Hermione, "ancestry. You now share the blood that used to run through my veins. I apologize for doing so without your consent."

"That's…that's okay, I guess." Hermione had no idea what was going on in the slightest, which was exceedingly rare for her. How did she share the blood of a ghost? Did she receive a blood transfusion when she was younger that her parents never told her about? Did this lady die because of it? Why is she a ghost?

"Good. Now, then. If you'll excuse me, I have stayed in the material plane long enough, and the others will start getting suspicious. I will try to keep in contact." Rowena pulled out her wand.

"Wait! Who are you?" ever the curious one, and even more curious when things involved her well-being.

Rowena simply smiled, and said, "I am Rowena Ravenclaw, the brightest witch in the history of magic. And you, my dear, are a witch." Ever the enigmatic, Lady Ravenclaw offered no other explanation, and vanished, leaving two very confused and very stranded children in the middle of a park.

Fortunately for all involved, Mr. and Mrs. Granger were always rather adamant about teaching their daughter proper emergency procedure, including, but not limited to: Never get into a vehicle with a stranger, always look both ways before crossing the street, stop, drop, and roll, always wear your seatbelt, and of course if you ever get lost, just use a payphone or ask a policeman. It was these honed survival techniques that allowed Hermione to live a life of safety, despite all the weird and unexplainable things that happened to her so frequently.

"Don't worry, I'm gonna call my Mom so she can come get us and take us to my house." Hermione suggested, taking charge. Harry nodded, and followed her to a payphone located near the swingset.

Some time later, Helen Granger dropped what she was doing and rushed to the park where her daughter was alone, _unsupervised,_ and in need of her mother.

She put the pedal to the metal, so to speak, of her brand-new MG Metro 1300 (Pierre had given it to her for her birthday. "Only the newest for my sweetums," he had said.) Halfway to the park, Helen encountered an ambulance heading the same way she was, and, understandably enough, nearly lost her mind. Ambulances meant injury--injury or death, and it was just too much of a coincidence that it would just happen to be going in the same direction. Frustrated by the ambulance's seemingly slow speed (Her baby could be _dying!_), Helen contemplated passing it until, much to her relief, it turned off Main Street and away from the park.

Arriving at the city (more like a village, really) park quickly if not entirely safely, Helen hastily parked her car in the lot across three separate parking lines. Rushing out of her car and running as fast as her legs could carry her to the spot she and Hermione had agreed on should she ever get lost, Helen Granger let out a sigh of relief after finding her daughter and some boy swinging contentedly.

Helen took a minute to compose herself--clearly, her daughter was not injured or hurt in any visible way, and she looked to be actually enjoying herself with someone her age. Hermione, her daughter, _enjoying herself_.

This happiness at Hermione's situation was, of course, not to last. Alas, it is true what they say, about ignorance being bliss.

After Hermione saw her mother and stopped playing with her new friend, she ran to her and embraced her in a tight hug. Hermione winced again at the bruises, and Helen (having worked with children showing signs of pain without speaking for some time now) noticed. Ever the concerned parent, Helen questioned her daughter's facial expression.

Now, Hermione Granger was taught never to lie, and especially not to one's parents. So she told her mother what had happened, to her and her newest friend, including the horrid actions of the Dursley's and the unexplainable transportations that had put her in those situations.

Helen Granger was, in a word, outraged. The Dursley's were the worst kind of people, the absolute scum of the Earth. Abuse like that was simply intolerable. As whatever god was listening as her witness, she _would_ get Hermione's newest friend out of that house.

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Rowena was rather pleased with herself. She had managed to protect the girl and by extension the boy from the wrath of that awful, awful man. It had hurt, yes, very badly indeed, and she was rather drained, but it was worth it, she made no doubt about that.

"Hello, Gretchen." she spoke, suddenly aware of the other ghost's presence.

"How is it that you always manage to know when I'm here?" Gretchen inquired, frustrated. Ever since they were children, Gretchen had tried to sneak up on Rowena, and not once had she ever succeeded.

"Years spent with my nose in books, I imagine. Peripheral vision." Rowena smiled. They had been playing this game for centuries, and she always came out on top.

"Oh, you. But forget that, you did it! I knew you'd find something!" Gretchen exclaimed, and pulled Rowena into a hug. This was rather difficult, of course, what with both of them going through each other, but then again Gretchen had plenty of time to practice. She had always said, "I'm not going to let a little thing like death stop me from hugs!" And so she hadn't.

Rowena smiled. If there was one person who always appreciated her efforts, it was Gretchen Gryffindor. However, there were more pressing matters to attend to than Gretchen's appreciation.

"Does Godric suspect anything?" Godric would be the biggest and most frustrating obstacle to Rowena's meddling. He was powerful--very much so, even in death, and possibly worse than that, he was righteously stubborn. Godric would be a fair bit angry with her if he found out that she had broken one of his Very Important Rules.

"Well, so far he thinks that it was just Harry's magic lashing out, but I don't know how long he'll believe that." Gretchen spoke. Rowena was both relieved and unsurprised--Godric was exceedingly proud of his heir's magical abilities, despite Rowena's attempts at convincing him that Harry's adeptness with magic had little to do with blood.

"Mmm. Well, this is good news for me, then. I'll be able to meddle a little more until he finds out."

"_Rowena!_ You know you can't do that, he's sure to find out sometime!"

"Yes, well, I'll worry about that when the time comes. But Gretchen, you cannot expect me to sit back and watch as my heir goes through her life without me at least speaking with her once in a while, do you? She's very bright, you know." Rowena grinned at Gretchen's look of shock.

"Rowena, you didn't!" Gretchen exclaimed. To magically force an heir was exceedingly difficult, and exceedingly dangerous. It had never been done before, and her friend had never before expressed interest in it. It was surprising, then, when it was revealed to her that her cool and calculating friend had done something so--so _rash_.

"You asked me to help, Gretchen, and I did. And please, don't go letting anything slip to your husband, or else I might just have to tell him who exactly requested I do something in the first place." At this, Rowena smiled a wicked little smile and floated away.

A/N: 3000 words, which is 1.5 times the last chapter, but still quite short. I hope you enjoyed it anyway, and I'm sorry for the wait, but Christmas turned out to be a fair bit more hectic than I had originally imagined. 5 points to whoever can guess which couple I named Hermione's parents after.

P.S.: How the hell do I respond to reviews? I appreciate each one a great deal, and would very much like to know how to give a proper thanks.


	3. Rescue and Desperation

-1Author's Note: If someone can give me a lesson on the difference between who and whom I will love you forever.

"Harry," Pierre started, unsure exactly how to approach the boy. It was true, he mused, that he must be rather, ahem, _imposing_. Pierre Granger, while a dentist full-time, had taken to exercise and fitness to keep himself busy. As a result of years of hard-work and dedication ("It's just like brushing your teeth, except longer!") Pierre was a bit…_large. _It was for this reason that new patients often seemed uncomfortable around him, until they got to know him and realized he was really a very nice guy, despite appearances. The scraggly brown beard he used to sport never helped matters, either.

"Harry, it's okay, we're not going to send you back to the Dursley's." Harry's eyes lit up at this. Pierre smiled--he had him, now. "We just want to know where they live, so we can make sure you don't have to go back there."

Harry told him where his relatives lived, and Pierre's jaw tightened. So close! In the same town, even! Hell, he'd _treated_ that humongous kid of theirs before. He never thought, not once, that the bastards could have another kid. They had hid Harry from the public eye exceedingly well.

Well, no longer! Not as long as Pierre still breathed, that was for sure.

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Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot, Order of Merlin First Class, and Vanquisher of Grindewald, was not happy. It was very important--imperative, even, that Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World stay with the Dursley's for his own protection. The remaining Death Eaters abound were just itching to kill him as revenge, and the only thing protecting him were the blood wards in place around Number Four, Privet Drive. And now, of course, someone was trying to take him away from that and surely to his death.

Albus sighed. He didn't very much _like_ interfering like this. Replacing memories was an ethical tightrope with no net under it, but everyone had to make sacrifices for the greater good, whether they knew it or not. Besides, he mused, surely the reports about the Dursley's abuse were greatly exaggerated. Minerva and Arabella were, after all, very sensitive when it came to child-rearing. Surely a few spankings every now and then weren't so terrible.

Ah, well. It was as nice a time as any for a good, long flight on a broom, and since he was going to wipe their memories anyway, he figured a little break couldn't hurt.

Of course, what one of the most powerful wizards of his time failed to notice was the watchful eye of a tabby cat hanging around just outside his office. Nor did he notice the tabby cat stand up on two legs and morph into one Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.

Minerva McGonagall hurried up into Dumbledore's office and rummaged through his papers, looking for any sign of where Harry Potter currently was and any way to get there before Dumbledore arrived. She had some time, thank Merlin, because Dumbledore was going through another of his youths. Really though, if you asked her, he never stopped his first one. She figured that was why he was so good with children.

"Aha!" she exclaimed, having finally found the record which always told were Harry Potter was at all times. This was a rare artifact, of which there was only one in the entire world, and impossible to duplicate. These Child-O-Graphs were made at birth from part of the mother's blood, and were given to the parents so that they would always know where exactly their child was. It was one of the many artifacts and trinkets salvaged from Potter Manor nearly eight years ago. And now, it said that Harry Potter was currently located at the Granger residence.

McGonagall's lips pursed. Granger was the name of a Muggleborn witch that the quill had written down a very long time ago. It was a rarity, to have an outburst of accidental magic so powerful as to activate the quill so young, but Granger had somehow managed to blow out a wall when she was little. The quill never lied, nor did it ever ask questions.

Unfortunately for her, the Grangers were a nonmagical family, living in a Muggle neighborhood, so it was impossible to Floo there directly. Minerva hurried and grabbed a broom from the nearest closet. It would be difficult, almost exceedingly so, to reach Dumbledore in time, but she could try.

One of Dumbledore's biggest faults, and some might say one of his biggest strengths, was that he was always willing to give a person a second chance, no matter how horrible the crime. It was a joke among the undesirables of society that if you ever had to stand before the Wizengamot, just get yourself down to Dumbledore's vote and you were home free.

But Minerva had seen the Dursleys, and the way they had treated poor Harry Potter, and they would receive no second chances. Not as long as Minerva McGonagall was still alive, that much was certain!

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Rowena Ravenclaw watched as the old man whom now managed her school flew to her heir's house to move the Potter boy back to the Dursley's. She knew what was going to happen, of course. The old man would wipe the memories of _her_ heir and her parents, the boy, and the Dursley's, and send him back there. Well, no skin off Rowena's no-doubt rotted nose. The boy could suffer forever for all she cared. Hell, the only reason Lady Ravenclaw helped in the first place was because Gretchen asked her to, and that was before Gretchen decided to go to town with the rules. Tell _her _what to do, will she? Well, Gretchen would just have to get her fool of a husband to help her, then.

It was while Rowena was thinking these thoughts that a spectral bird flew near and landed on her shoulder, as was his favorite perch in the nonmaterial world. The blackbird that was Rowena's namesake only stared at her, intently, as if it were judging her somewhere in it's feathered head.

"What. Stop looking at me like that." Rowena commanded. The bird did not listen.

"Why should I help? After all, Gretchen is just going to have to learn that I can't do everything for her, can I?" The bird still stared.

"…Fine. Have it your way. You always knew I couldn't say no to those eyes of yours. It's not my fault if this goes wrong." The bird rested it's head on Rowena's.

She sighed, "I love you too."

Lady Ravenclaw once more cast the spell that caused so much pain. Her face scrunched up in agony, and the bird only watched, beak open, eyes wide, and looked as horrified as a blackbird could possibly look. Rowena only smiled as the Shattering, as she had taken to calling it, removed her form from sight.

Rowena Ravenclaw had long ago stopped breathing, but Harry Potter wouldn't go back to the Dursley's anyway.

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Helen and Pierre Granger were in a pickle. It had been like pulling teeth, trying to conceive Hermione in the first place. They had tried over and over, for a full two years until the test changed colour. They had both considered adoption, and had agreed that what they _really_ wanted a child of their own. Helen had considered in-vitro fertilization, and again they both agreed to use it as a last result, due to both the risk involved and the cost. It was a miracle, then, when Helen found out that at last she was pregnant.

Now they were faced with another child, ad neither of them knew what to do. It was really nothing against Harry personally, he was very polite and, sadly, too well-behaved. Yet both Grangers worked full-time at their practice, and they again agreed that Harry would need more than that to recover. Worse yet, the boy seemed to have the same penchant for strange happenings that their daughter did, and they weren't sure how they would manage when things started exploding. Of course, there was no way either of them could send him back to those horrid relatives of his, and so was their conundrum.

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Albus Dumbledore arrived at the Granger home, having made very good time for a man over a century of age, if you asked him. Having already cast a muggle-repelling charm on himself and his broom, he dismounted his Clean Sweep ad walked towards the door of the two-story house at the end of the road with a bounce in his step that he often got after a good flight.

Albus transfigured his robes into a blue sports jersey advertising the worth of some German player or another and a rather fetching pair of black dress pants. He figured his boots were already muggle enough, and knocked on the door.

Dumbledore waited, very patiently, a good three or four minutes before a very large, very fit man opened the door and immediately looked upon the older man with confusion and question at his rather unique outfit. Albus frowned a little inside--muggles never appreciated the efforts he went to make them more comfortable. The larger man asked Dumbledore if he was lost and if he might need to use their telephone, and Dumbledore simply pulled out a small, crooked wooden stick, and a red light shot out of it and the large man crumpled to the floor in a heap.

Helen Granger crossed the hall to her daughter's room, in which Hermione was currently giving her newest friend a tour of her room, and most of all, her prized book collection. Harry, bless his heart, looked and acted as excited as could be about each detail of Hermione's room, from her star-covered ceiling to her wall-to-wall bookshelves. He even thought it was grand that Hermione had her own special carpeting, a navy blue color unique to the burgundy present in the rest of the house. Harry thought it was the most wonderful thing in the world, that Hermione got something special.

Helen was observing this mini-tour with a smile on her face when an old man wearing the most ludicrous outfit she'd ever seen walked in the door. He seemed rather sad about something, like he was sent to relay gruesome news or he had just been forced to be an executioner.

"Excuse me, but do you know what you are doing here?" Helen thought that maybe the front door was left open, and perhaps the poor old man was senile. It couldn't hurt to at least treat him with some kindness.

"Yes," the old man sighed, "I am here to take Harry back to his Aunt and Uncle." He only looked more dejected.

Helen immediately stiffened up and looked stern. "You will do nothing of the sort. I am prepared to take his case to the High Court if need be."

Dumbledore sighed. He pulled out his wand, and began to intone "_Obliv­-"_

It was while this was going on that Hermione, standing behind her bed with Harry and watching the goings-on of the adults, felt the familiar weight materialize on her arm. She looked down, as was instinct, and saw the familiar emblem of a bird with it's wings spread wide emblazoned upon a dark blue shield. And, when the shield appeared, so did the voice.

"_Stop him!_" the voice shouted in Hermione's head, urgent.

The voice had never driven Hermione wrong before, and this man was really quite scary. It is understandable, then, that Hermione Granger swung her shield like a baseball bat into Dumbledore's knees. Hermione was young, yes, and not very strong, despite the stacks of books she would often carry home from the library. But fortunately for her, Albus Dumbledore was also very, very old. He buckled.

"DON'T HURT MY MOMMY."

Harry scrambled for the stick that the old man had dropped. He had often overhead his relatives talking about "magic" and gathered that this magic was why he was a freak. And, as any 9 year old boy knows, any good magic spell sounds weird. He heard what the man with the stick was saying before, pointed the wand at him, and said "_Oblivi-_um." The man passed out, and Harry was quite horrified.

Helen was partly amazed at what had just happened, like any human being would be. But like any good mother, this human curiosity took a backseat to maternal worry. Helen pulled in her daughter and Harry tightly and squeezed like if she didn't the children would float off miles away, never to be seen or heard from again.

"Where's Dad?" Hermione squeaked out, filled with as much worry as her mother was about her. If that man's stick could do that from just Harry making up gibberish, Hermione could not bear to think what could have become of her father. Her dad was tough, sure, but he wasn't a match to something like _that_.

Helen pulled away from her daughter for a moment and looked directly at her. She told her under no terms was she to leave her room, and that Helen would be back very soon once she made sure Dad was okay. Hermione only nodded, terrified.

Helen walked carefully down the hall to the staircase, fearing the absolute worst for her husband. For all she knew he could be--no, she could not allow herself to think that way. Pierre would not allow himself to leave her like that.

She descended the first two steps of the staircase slowly, until she saw what she truly wished she would not see. Mrs. Granger leapt down the staircase in bounds of two or three steps at a time and rushed to her husband, nearly collapsing on top of his still-warm body, sobbing.

Still-warm.

Helen realized that Pierre was still breathing, his pulse was normal, and for all physical appearance, looked like he had just fallen asleep in the middle of the floor. She thanked whatever gods were watching and just sat there and held him for a moment.

However, when chaos strikes and unexpected things happen, usually these things do not stop happening for a while, and today was no different. A slightly wrinkled, worried looking woman with hair pulled into an impossibly tight bun burst open the door, panting and looking for all the world that she had just performed a triathlon. Following close behind her was a ragged man whose clothes appeared to have been worn quite a few times too many and washed too few.

"Where's," the woman wheezed, "Mr. Potter?"

"GET OUT!" Helen screamed, "GO AWAY, YOU CAN'T TAKE HIM BACK!"

The woman's face brightened, relieved. "Oh, thank Merlin, we're not too late."

The ragged man was less relieved that the woman, for he had noticed that under the woman whom had just roared at them, was a large man whom appeared to be sleeping. He sighed.

"Dumbledore's been here." He pulled out his wand, and pointed it at the unconscious man. Helen tried to shield him with her own body, but alas, she was quite a bit smaller than her husband, and the ragged man had a fair shot when he voiced something like "Innervate" and moved his stick around. Much to Helen's relief, however, the instant the ragged man said this, her husband started to come around.

"Helen! Where's that old man? Are you okay? Is Hermione?" Pierre questioned, even before getting up off of the floor.

"We're fine. Harry did…something, and the old guy is knocked out upstairs."

"Oh, Merlin," the exhausted woman sighed, exasperated, "Albus is still here." The two newcomers immediately rushed upstairs, and if Helen wasn't emotionally exhausted at that point, she would have been alarmed at how quickly the seemingly out-of-shape woman could bound up them.

In Hermione's room, the ragged man introduced himself to Harry as one Remus Lupin, while the older woman said her name was Minerva McGonagall. It was very soon after this that Pierre Granger leapt up the staircase and burst into his daughter's room behind the two strangers. Lupin, fortunately, had a fair bit of experience dealing with people angry with him, and knew how to usually stop violence without reciprocating. He put his hands above his hands, and walked slowly to a nearby wall, where he stood facing it, and put his hands on the wall. He motioned for Minerva to do the same.

"My name is Remus Lupin, and this is Minerva McGonagall. We are here to make sure Harry does not go back to the Dursleys. We mean no harm to your daughter." Pierre thanked his lucky stars. He _really_ didn't want to have to beat up a poor, sickly man and a woman.

"Give me your sticks." Pierre demanded. True, they were up against a wall, but he had seen first hand what those people could do with those little bits of wood, and wanted to make sure they were completely disarmed. They complied. Harry, too, gave Pierre the stick he found from the old man still on the floor.

"Who's that?" the Granger head pointed to the elderly person on the floor, "And what is he doing here?"

Minerva replied, "That is Albus Dumbledore, a very powerful wizard. He is the Headmaster of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and he came to take Harry back to his relatives."

"Where's Hogwarts?" Hermione questioned, her fear of the three strangers now overpowered by her curiosity, especially when it had something to do with learning.

"In Scotland. It's a school where we teach young witches and wizards how to do magic. We hope that you and Harry will join us there when you turn 11." Minerva smiled, despite her situation. She was always happy when the young ones were eager to learn.

"Hermione will _not_ be going anywhere where this Dumbledore bastard is Headmaster." Pierre responded firmly.

Minerva sighed, "I assure you, he really is a good man. He believes everyone deserves a second chance, even the Dursley's."

"Then why are you trying to prevent him from taking Harry?"

"The same reason you are, I imagine. Some people do not deserve a second chance."

"Alright, what are you doing here then, Lupin was it?"

Remus replied, "I recently discovered that I have some relation to Harry's late father. I want to adopt Harry." Harry brightened at this. He didn't much want to be adopted by the Grangers, not because of any ill-will towards them, but because he did not want Hermione to be his sister. He found that, like Vernon's sister Marge, and most of the sisters on the television programs Dudley and the rest of the family watched, sisters and brothers oftentimes hated each other, and he did not want to have to hate his first friend. In addition to all of that, Harry had always been extremely curious about his parents, and it was hopeless to ever try to get any information out of the Dursley's whatsoever.

"Are you really related to my dad?" Harry asked. Surely this couldn't be all a cruel joke, and they weren't really going to take him back to his aunt and uncle. That would just be too cruel, especially for strangers who didn't even know him.

"Yes, Harry. We apparently shared a great, great grandfather. It's like that with most Wizarding families." Lupin replied gently.

"Were my mom and dad wizards too?" Harry asked.

"Well, your mother was a witch, Harry. But yes, both of your parents were magical. That's why you can make weird things happen. According to Professor McGonagall here, your little friend is a witch, too." Lupin informed.

Harry was ecstatic. Things were definitely looking up for him--first he made a new friend, then he was taken away from the Dursley's, and now he found out why he did weird stuff and best of all, he was now getting a real, honest-to-goodness guardian to look after him.

"Excuse me," Minerva interrupted, "but I have to ask, what exactly happened to Albus?"

Hermione, seeing that she once again had an opportunity to impress an adult with her wealth of knowledge, immediately explained that she hit Dumbledore in his knees and that he passed out because of it. It was only after McGonagall pressed on why exactly Harry had Dumbledore's wand that Harry came forward and admitted that he said a magic word that caused the Headmaster to fall down and that he was very, very sorry.

McGonagall volunteered to take Dumbledore back to Hogwarts to get checked out by Madam Pomfrey, and promised that she would give Albus a talking to and assured everyone that he would understand that Harry was going to live with Lupin from now on. Once they disappeared into thin air, Lupin sat Pierre and Helen Granger down and began to explain their situation. He explained that yes, their daughter was a witch, and all predictions told that she would be a very good one indeed. He explained that sometimes witches and wizards were born to nonmagical people (whom he called Muggles until he caught himself), and that Hogwarts really was the best school a young witch could attend, and to please forgive Albus Dumbledore, because he really did have Harry's best interests at heart. It was when Helen and Pierre questioned how exactly putting Harry back with the Dursley's could possibly be in his "best interests" that Lupin's expression turned dark, and he explained all about the Dark Lord Voldemort and how his fathers were itching for revenge. The fact that his mother sacrificed herself for Harry kept the Death Eaters at bay as long as Harry lived with his mother's blood. Lupin then quickly explained that Harry's father made the same sacrifice, and so Lupin's blood would have much the same effect, and that was why Lupin was really the best choice for adoption.

Helen sighed. "I don't know, Pierre. If we send our daughter to this school, and let her into this whole other world, what is going to happen to her? We're basically putting her in danger."

"Schnookums, you know our daughter. There's this whole world out there, that she's suddenly a part of. You know as well as I do that she'll want nothing more than to explore it and learn all she can." Pierre replied.

"I wanna go," came the voice from the top of the staircase. "I wanna go to Hogwarts with Harry and learn all about magic. I wanna go."

The Grangers looked up to see their daughter with Harry standing next to her, looking determined as ever. They both looked at each other, and knew in that moment that their decision had already been made for them.

"Alright, dear." they said, in unison.

"Well, you won't be going to Hogwarts until you're eleven years old, so in the mean time, you can learn all about maths and science and all the things nonmagical people study. Now, Harry, what do you say we go and get yourself adopted" Lupin said, looking at the skinny little boy with a smile on his face.

Harry Potter, Remus Lupin, and the Grangers were going to be okay.

Author's Notes: Whew. I am so, so sorry about the wait. I've been babysitting since the 30th and just haven't had the time to sit down and write. Unfortunately for you, the wait was far from worth it because this chapter is just awful. I need a Beta Reader extremely badly, as you can no doubt tell. Any volunteers?

Love and Kisses, Your Author.

P.S. This time I only put two parenthesis blurbs in. Usually I drench the chapter in them, because quite frankly I like 'em, but then, it can be annoying when half the paragraph is inside parenthesis. Tell me whether you like them or hate them or are indifferent to them.


	4. Discovery and Gambit

-1Author's Note: Remus is gay. If that offends you, I'm not apologizing for shit. You should be ashamed of yourself. Love and Kisses!

The years passed by calmly enough. Albus relented on Harry staying with the Dursley's, and, despite Harry's initial fears, he seemed more impressed by Harry's use of magic without a proper incantation than angry. Once Harry talked to him for a little while, he warmed up to him a bit, but the young Mr. Potter was always reserved whenever dealing with Albus Dumbledore.

Life was good for Harry and his surrogate uncle (Never "father", Remus had been adamant about that). Remus, partially due to Harry's non-stop begging and partially the job opening teaching arithmetic to nonmagical children, did not move very far away, but thought it would be best if they did not live in the same town as the Dursley's. As a result, Remus moved to Camberley, the fourth-largest town in Surrey, of which Little Whinging was a suburb.

Remus purchased a small studio flat, which Harry would have been perfectly fine with, even if it were twice as small, as long as he was away from his aunt and uncle. Much to his surprise and excitement, however, Remus promptly told the laws of physics that he was having none of their nagging, pulled out his wand, and expanded the flat to match the size of your average one-story house. Harry was ecstatic.

School was a bit of an ordeal for both children, as it always had been, although lately it was so less than usual. Remus was thoroughly concerned about Harry's schoolwork, as his records had shown that his grades had always teetered on the edge of failure. Remus discussed his worry with Harry, and was shocked to find out the reason for his shoddy work was that he was constantly afraid of doing better than his cousin. Remus asked Harry's teacher to please administer a test so that Harry could be properly placed, and she was happy to oblige. Aside from that, the children seemed to forget Harry Potter's existence quite easily, and school turned out to be "okay."

For Hermione, though, things were the same as always. Two girls, Becky and Veronica, had always tormented her, as she was one of the easiest targets for teasing. Big, bushy hair that never stayed in place, humongous front teeth and her nose always in a book were not a good combination for social standing in elementary school.

"Ooops!" Veronica exclaimed, after "accidentally" bumping into Hermione, causing her to drop the pile of books she was carrying. "How clumsy of me!"

Hermione, to her credit, knew very well that clumsiness had nothing to do with it. She sighed, and began re-stacking her books on top of one another, at least until Veronica kicked them over again.

"I have Harry." Hermione mumbled to herself, and once again began the arduous process of putting her books back together.

"What was that, Beaver? Did you say something to me? Something about an imaginary friend?" Veronica sneered.

"Harry is NOT imaginary." Hermione replied, standing up to face her tormenter, books clutched against her chest.

"Don't lie, Beaver, it's against the rules. I bet Harry's the name of a prince in one of those books you're always reading, coming to take you away, isn't he?"

"Harry is **NOT** imaginary." Hermione shouted, clearly becoming frustrated.

_"_Oh, he's not? Well, then, he must be either blind or uglier than you! But how would that happen?"

"Don't make fun of Harry." Hermione growled, deliberately meaning her words as a threat.

Veronica responded with another taunt, but for some strange, unexplained reason, she found herself sitting in the principal's office alone and locked in. She would later receive a three day suspension for breaking into the office, and for those three days Hermione walked around the school with her head held up high.

After hearing about this little incident, Pierre and Helen bristled, and Remus (who had become a part of their lives because their daughter could not let them forget about Harry, even if they had wanted to,) offered to take them on a trip to the Magical World, of which both Harry and Hermione were very, very excited. Mr. and Mrs. Granger (having still remembered the Albus Incident), not so much.

The Knight Bus ride to Diagon Alley was certainly…memorable for all involved, for lack of better words. Hermione held onto Harry for dear life and honestly thought they were going to find her corpse spread across the bus walls, Harry shouted with glee at the excitement of it all, and Pierre was positive he was going to become sick, until Helen did. Remus cleaned it up right quick before it spread around too much, and Harry went back to thoroughly enjoying the ride.

All too soon for him, and all too late for most others, the bus came to a screeching halt, and they arrived in Diagon Alley. Hermione almost flew through the windshield, but was held back. They walked (Helen stumbled) to the front of the bus, kindly thanked Mr. Shunpike, and exited the bus without any deaths or injuries, much to their collective relief. Remus apologized for the unique manner in which Wizards traveled, and assured them that the rest of their visit would not be nearly as sickness-inducing. And this was true enough, at least until they arrived at the first stop of their tour of Wizarding England: Gringotts Bank.

Remus bowed to the goblin teller (His courtesy toward Goblin-kind as a whole turned out to be a great benefit to adopting Harry when gossip came about that he was "only in it for the cash") and politely asked to see Harry's vault. The Grangers refused to come along on the visit to the vault, saying it would be rude of them. Remus felt guilty leaving two muggles and their daughter alone in Gringotts, until one of the goblins (always having a head for business opportunities and eager to start another arrangement) suggested that Hermione open her own vault.

A short, even by goblin standards, goblin with vertically pointed ears and long, stringy black hair that looked as if it would fall out if one were to give it even the slightest tug, led them to a room at the back of the bank. Inside the completely white room sat a single table with two chairs, one whose seat was much higher than the other. Their goblin guide sat down on the high chair, while Hermione sat in the low one. It this arrangement that allowed them to look at each other in the eyes.

"Excuse me, but what is your name?" Hermione said, and the goblin turned around, wide-eyed and practically stunned.

The goblin said back in a raspy voice that reminded Hermione of someone who had been addicted to cigarettes for a very, very long time, "Grinchelda. Now then, Miss, Granger, was it?" Hermione nodded, "If you would please prick your finger on this needle and place it on the table, we may begin." Grinchelda drew a long, wicked-looking needle from one of her pockets, and Hermione was astounded at how it could fit while the gilded needle looked very much too large for the pocket itself. She pricked her finger (just a little bit afraid of falling asleep for a very, very long time) and allowed a single drop of blood to fall onto the table, where it immediately evaporated, and the word "REJECTED" flashed in large, red letters in it's place. Hermione was about to panic. Surely this meant that she wasn't actually magical at all.

"Hm, what a tragedy. All humans are alike, after all, it seems. I assure you, Granger, that Gringotts does not tolerate jokes." Grinchelda said, glowering.

"This is the first time I've ever been here, ma'am! I didn't mean anything, I'm sorry!" Hermione replied, quickly becoming more and more scared.

Grinchelda's face softened. "Perhaps there has been…a mistake." With that, she murmured something in Latin that Hermione did not understand, and touched her finger to the table, causing it to glow a bright orange and the surface changed color to puce. Grinchelda then pulled out another needle (Hermione thought that Goblins would be very good at torture) and once again asked Hermione to prick her finger.

Again, Hermione allowed a drop of her blood to fall, hoping beyond hope that it would work properly. This time, the blood seemed to suck in the color with the table, and it swirled into a rather sickly looking spiral. Not long after, the spiral began to twist into letters. Hermione saw the word "RAVENCLAW" looking up at her. She looked questioningly up at the goblin, who had a look of shock sprawled across her face.

"Oh, my. Oh, dear." It was now Grinchelda's turn to look panicked. "She didn't…she's not…"

"Excuse me, is there something wrong?" Hermione asked.

"No, no, no, nothing…wrong. Would you like to see your inheritance vault, Miss Granger?" Grinchelda replied.

"I'm certain I don't have one, ma'am. I don't have any magical relatives. And please, call me Hermione."

Grinchelda smiled wide, showing every one of her sharp, pointed, yellow teeth, and said, "That may be, but in any case, you are the sole heir of the Ravenclaw vault. Would you like to take a ride down there?"

"Ride?"

"Yes, we employ a system of mining carts not unlike muggle…what is the term…roller coasters?"

"Oh, my. I do not believe my parents, or I, are up to another ride like the Knight Bus," The Grangers exhaled in relief, "is there any way to withdraw money without having to visit?"

"Yes, yes of course. Wait here a moment, please, Miss--Hermione." The goblin hurried off through a door to the north and left Hermione and her parents standing in a pure-white room in a bank filled with creatures who used to only exist in fairy tales in a neighborhood lined with shops of things that floated or whirred without any sort of power source at all, in a world where things happened with a swoosh of a fancy stick and a word that none of them had ever dreamed of before.

It was quite the humbling experience.

Grinchelda, ever the diligent worker, returned quickly with a brown leather satchel. "I'm afraid that for such an old vault, there is considerably less gold inside than is to be expected, however I believe this should serve your purposes anyway."

Hermione bowed deeply (Grinchelda turned a weird shade of orange) and turned to leave. They were almost at the door when Grinchelda once more called out, "Hermione, I do not recommend telling anyone whose name is on your vault. Do you understand?" Hermione nodded, met up with Harry and Remus in the lobby, and together they all finally left Gringotts Bank.

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After that, Remus showed them around Diagon Alley for a bit, pointing out the many stores and places of interest where one could have a good time. Pierre and Helen found something about Beauxbotan's Academy of Magic, and were seriously considering sending Hermione there, despite her protests, when they came a cross a certain man.

One Mr. Albus Dumbledore stood before them, in all his magical glory.

"What do you want from us?" Pierre asked, putting himself in front of his wife and daughter. That was when Dumbledore did something that no one, not a soul in all of Diagon Alley was expecting.

He kneeled.

Albus fell onto his knees, putting his head down in front of the Grangers.

"Please," he started, "I come only to apologize. My actions were hurtful, immoral, wrong, and worst of all they may have caused a little girl to not receive the best education that can be offered her. Please, I ask only for your forgiveness." he spoke. And at these words, Helen and Pierre Granger saw Albus Dumbledore for what he really was for the first time. He was not only a symbol of the wizarding world. He was not only the headmaster of some school in Scotland. Albus Dumbledore was only a sad, lonely old man who always saw the absolute best in everyone.

"We want a trial." Helen spoke. Everyone gasped, and Dumbledore looked up, face forlorn. "Not for you, for Remus's partner, and Harry's godfather. We want a trial for Sirius Black."

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While all of this was going on, Harry and Hermione slipped away into a nearby bookshop, their curiosity getting the better of them, as it often did. While perusing through the wide selection of tomes, musty and new, Hermione came across an interesting sight, even considering all of the things she had seen that day. Sitting in an aisle reading a book half her size was a small, thin girl with long, silky, pale blonde hair. She was reading with an air of urgency--like it was of the utmost importance that she finish the book and understand every single word.

Getting closer, Hermione saw the title: _Atrociously_ _Advanced Arithmancy And All Anticipatory Analytical Anomalies. _The shopkeep soon discovered the little girl reading the all-too difficult book, and wrenched it with her fingers. She screamed in desperation,

"NO! NO, I HAVE TO READ THAT! PLEASE! PLEASE YOU HAVE TO!" and began sobbing uncontrollably.

Hermione Granger was never, will never be, and was not now the kind of person who just let people cry all by their lonesome. She rushed to the broken little girl, and immediately brought her into one of her patented hugs. The girl latched on to her for dear life, and continued her crying.

Of course, Harry was not deaf. When he heard the scream, he immediately rushed over to the stranger's aid and saw Hermione sitting on the floor of the bookshop holding a crying girl in her arms. He saw Hermione give him a look, and immediately he was on the floor again, hugging the strange little girl as tightly as Hermione.

The little girl finally found her voice through the sobs.

"My…my mum, she was an Arithmancer. She…she died. I thought that maybe… maybe if I learn Arithmancy too, then Dad won't be so sad, and he won't have to sell the Quibbler." she croaked.

Harry and Hermione hugged her more tightly, for a few minutes. When the strange little girl finally made to stand up, they walked with her out of the store, to find Remus and the Grangers looking frantically for them. Harry waved them over, and Hermione spoke:

"I want to fund the Quibbler with my inheritance money." At these words, the clouds overhead finally released the load they had been carrying the whole moment, and rain poured down upon Diagon Alley.

Rowena was very, very proud.

A/N: Why hello, people who are still reading(victims), glad to see you. I wonder what sort of ramifications Dumbledore kneeling to two muggles in the middle of Diagon Alley will have. Guess who's replacing Ron, by the way! Hope nobody minds, but I hate him and love Luna. It seemed like a natural choice.

This chapter featured no Rowena at all, and I miss her terribly. Next time, she'll have to kick some ass and take some names so I can get my fix.

Originally I played with the idea of shipping H and H off to Beauxbatons, but then I realized there was a reason I'd never seen it done before, and I'm not anywhere near creative enough to pull THAT off. Also, you'll notice I totally skipped the adoption process, that's because of things.

Inspiration for this chapter comes from "Look Up" by Stars. Stars is the best thing to happen to music since sound.

Love and Kisses,

Your Author.

P.S. Flame Away.


	5. Questions and Lies

Author's Note: COLLEGE. Also you can't prove I was gone for 5 months, and if you put me on oath I'll lie!

_**Chapter The Fifth:**_

_**Questions and Lies**_

"Now hear this!" Dumbledore's voice boomed throughout the courtroom, demanding silence without ever asking for it, "We are here today to properly judge on Sirius Black, accused of the murder of 12 Muggles and Peter Pettigrew. We shall hear testimony and make a proper judgment, as is expected of civilized society. Any attempts to thwart the pursuit of justice shall be dealt with with the full extent of my power as Chief Warlock. Are there any dissenters to this trial?" The silence perpetuated, as not a soul was willing to speak against a trial started by Albus Dumbledore--it would practically be political suicide.

Harry, Luna and the Grangers were sitting in the back of the courtroom, all dressed up as proper wizards and witches. Harry and Hermione loved their red and purple polka-dotted pointed hats, while Luna was wearing…_something_ on her head that rather resembled an antelope stuck up a tree. She would answer no questions about it. The adult Grangers both felt that they looked ridiculous, all dressed up in red robes and hats, but Remus had convinced them that it would be best to pretend that they were magical for the trial. "Anything for justice!" Pierre had said, until he saw what he had to wear.

"The first witness will now give his testimony as to the persona of Sirius Black." Dumbledore called, and Remus' face immediately fell. A man with long, silky blonde hair and a face that looked as if his skin had been pulled at the back of the head stepped down from the Jury's section and took a seat in a rickety old chair that looked like it would fall all to pieces if someone like Dudley took a seat in it. Which, Harry mused, wasn't saying much.

"The Blacks have a long history of hating Muggles," the man drawled, and if Helen didn't know any better she would say that her skin was actually crawling at the sound of his "holier-than-thou" tone. "Mr. Black's cousin Bellatrix Lestrange is in Azkaban for being a known Death Eater, and his mother was famous for her hatred of any muggle-born. It comes as no surprise that Sirius would kill all of those poor, defenseless muggles. This trial should be fairly open and shut." All around the room, people were murmuring their agreement, and Remus sighed the sigh of someone who knows that he has lost even before he had a chance to play the game.

However, the thing about Remus was that he tended to be a gigantic push-over. Others present in the trial, however, were not.

One such person present was Helen Granger, and as a non-push-over, she severely objected to the witness' statement. The court knew this of course, because another of the qualities of Helen Granger was that she was never taught to sit down and shut up.

"I OBJECT!" Helen yelled forcefully, leaping out of her chair to get the full attention of the court, "The witness' statement says nothing about the mindset of Mr. Black. There is only conjecture about his family and unproven speculation. It is totally irrelevant to this case."

"Oh? And what might your name be, milady?" Blondie McPompous asked. Luna presumed that he had a nasty infection of Doe-Eyed Warbles. They tended to crawl up one's robes and bite the inside of your thigh in order to extract pus to feed their young. Anybody would be cranky if he had Doe-Eyed Warbles.

"Helen Smith. Your statement is still irrelevant." Helen replied. She thought it wise not to reveal her real name, and Smith was as good a last name as she could think of on the spot. It wasn't really lying, anyhow: Her name _might_ be Helen Smith. But it wasn't.

"The lady's point is valid, Lucius. The statement is to be stricken from the record." Dumbledore intoned, hastily preventing an argument from breaking out. His left eye twinkled merrily at Helen, as if they shared some special secret.

The trial went on without further word from Lucius, until the only truly important testimony--the testimony of Sirius Black himself. Remus squirmed in his seat. If Dumbledore had somehow managed to set up Vertiserum, they had this trial in the bag. There was simply no way Sirius could have really killed all those muggles--it was about as likely as Luna finding Silver-Breasted Forkles in her tea. Remus Lupin didn't have faith in much. Being a werewolf in wizarding society had taken away that. But if there was one thing that Remus believed above all else, it was that Sirius Black was innocent. And also that Wizarding Society as a whole was stupid, but that's an issue for another time, dears.

Sirius Black, a raggedy looking man (although who could blame him?) who looked (and smelled) like he hadn't showered in years took the stand, still wearing the rags that the Ministry called a prison uniform. He was issued Veritaserum, and his eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped into his chair. Harry nearly rushed the stage, claiming poison, and had to be held back by Pierre. Pierre had to wince when Harry bit his finger.

"Did you cause the death of multiple persons, including Peter Pettigrew, ten years ago?"

"No."

"Did you kill any of the aforementioned Muggles individually?"

"No."

"Did you kill Peter Pettigrew?"

"No."

"Does that mean that he is still alive today?"

"No."

"Then he's dead?"

"Perhaps."

"You don't know?"

"Yes."

"Does anyone have any other questions?"

"I don't know."

"Does anyone, not including the defendant, have any questions?" Veritaserum, although infinitely useful, could get grating. Again the murmurs arose, as everyone started whispering to their neighbor about how the effects of Veritaserum and how it could have been faked.

"Are we seriously supposed to believe that Black did _not_ kill them? ("Yes") Then who did?" Lucius. Pierre would have strangled the man, if only it did not hurt Sirius' case.

"Peter Pettigrew."

"Ha! A likely story. He's obviously faking the effects of Veritaserum. This is all just hogwash." Lucius was effectively waving off the entire testimony with a flip of his perfectly manicured hand, to say nothing of his own completely ineffectual testimony. Of course, no one called him on it.

"Harry. Do you believe Sirius is innocent?" Pierre whispered to the tussle-haired yet uncomfortable-looking boy sitting next to him.

"Yeah. I mean, he has to be telling the truth, right? That's what the potion does. Plus Uncle Remus says he's couldn't have done it." Harry replied in earnest. Hermione and Luna both smile at him and nodded their heads. In the short time that they've known him (Well, Luna, anyway) they have never known him to ever condemn a man. Not for anything. It was rather coincidental, if you thought about it, that the reason the trial was occurring at all was because of a man many, many, many times Harry's age who also couldn't condemn anyone to save his life. Funny how things work out that way, isn't it?

"Then say something, Harry. Tell them that Sirius is innocent. These guys," Pierre waved a hand to the court, "these guys need someone to tell them what to think, that's why that blonde idiot is convincing them so well. But you, you Harry. You're famous. If there's one thing Mama Granger taught me, it's use what you've got." Harry merely clenched his jaw and nodded. He was a firm believer in not using his fame to get what he wanted, (What fun is playing a game if you start out in the winner's circle anyway?) but he was also a firm believer in justice. And sometimes, the ends justified the means.

"He's innocent! Let him go!" Harry stood up and declared to the court. It was an odd sight, really: a small, slightly ruffled looking boy standing up in the middle of a courtroom and declaring what the verdict should be. If it was anyone but Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, no one would have given him any weight at all. But it was. So they did.

"I think we have seen enough for this case. The Wizengamot shall now vote on a verdict." Dumbledore said, rather simply. It was easy to think that Dumbledore didn't have an opinion either way on the outcome of the case, but only if you didn't know Albus Dumbledore whatsoever. He would go into the back room with an innocent vote, and he would come out with an innocent vote.

The wait was excruciating. The children were ready to jump out of their seats. Helen was sitting back in her chair grumbling about unfair practices and "a buncha sheep!" Pierre was working on keeping Remus calm, as he was more anxious than the children.

And now, something else happens.

"_Hufflepuff."_ Rowena spat, spitless. For good reason, too, because that was the name of the plump ghost with absolutely no sense of fashion hovering in front of her. Honestly, _sandals and a ponytail?_ Who did she think she was, some goofy woman from the Valley?

That was the thing about Hufflepuff, though, Rowena assumed. She always wanted to look "approachable," even if "approachable" and "presentable" were rarely, if ever, the same thing.

"Hello Rowena!" Helga chirped in that bubbly, airy voice of hers. _Merlin, _did she _hear_ how she _spoke?_ It was enough to drive a ghost crazy. Which was hard, because technically they don't have any brains to damage.

"Oh, good evening, Helga! To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?" Rowena exclaimed, turning to look the other witch in the eyes, smiling a happy little smile all the while. Rowena, fortunately, had a face that was used to telling lies. And also rhyming.

"You'll never believe what I saw recently! Do you know that Hermione girl? Helen's daughter?" Helga questioned, ever chipper. Rowena wanted to choke the bitch with her own ugly sandals.

"Troy or Granger?" Rowena replied. Vagueness was a great thing when you didn't want to tell the whole truth.

"Granger, of course! I saw the oddest thing. She was carrying around a big,blue shield--with _your_ sign emblazoned on it. I nearly fainted!" Helga answered. Ooh, she was going to _get _it.

"Yes, well, Helga, I'm sure I don't know--_Petrificus Totalus!"_ Rowena whipped out her wand and zapped the ghost. Ghost Magic was rather inconvenient, in that it couldn't effect the living at all, and what it could to the dead followed rather…different rules. Helga was now floating there, a shocked look on her face, blameful and unbelieving eyes ever moving.

"Sorry, Hufflepuff," Rowena spat again, turning away from Helga's accusing eyes. "Maybe things would have been different if you hadn't said that, so many, many years ago." Rowena laughed a bitter little laugh that sounded like more like an "Aw!" than a "Ha!"

"But they aren't," Rowena sighed, "And now this. I think I'll leave you a moment to think about what you've done." As she turned to move, the Wisest Founder spoke again: "And don't ever look at Hermione Jane Granger ever again."

Hi, Ho Elsewhere!

The Court was again situated. Dumbledore sat in his High Chair, somewhat lamenting the fact that it was improper for a grown man to have a chair with a tray attached, despite how very useful it would be. Sirius was sitting in The Chair, and our favorite people in the world were sitting in their spots in the audience. All of them were waiting for Albus' turn to speak.

"It is often said that if you can get the vote down to Dumbledore, you're off scotch free. While I think that there is no real basis for this," Dumbledore paused, ever the Drama Queen. Lupin wanted to lunge at him and tear the verdict from his throat. "I also think that there is no sense in breaking a perfectly good tradition."

And that was all that needed to be said.

A/N: Hey, remember this fic? I kinda sorta do almost. It's really, really hard to write a good trial, which is why I didn't. I learned something, though!


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